


five more minutes

by SharpsBox (Sampphic)



Category: Battle For Dream Island (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, Freeform, Other, Valentine's Day 2021, barely long enough not to constitute as drabble, the hell's a beta?, unchanged names this time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29434335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sampphic/pseuds/SharpsBox
Summary: In the morning, Clock often drags his partner out of bed.Likewise, Winner often pulls him back in.
Relationships: Clock/Winner (Battle for Dream Island)
Kudos: 18





	five more minutes

**Author's Note:**

> hi! after about four to five months, ya girl is back with this. please excuse the length and quality, i just felt like writing some more lighthearted fluffy content for a newly gained ship of mine. 
> 
> tried to get this out for feb 14th. sent it out late by an hour, at least in my timezone, but shhhhhh. i needed to cleanse my soul.
> 
> anyway, enjoy some wholesome winnerclock to bless this ship tag.

Blinking awake from leaden slumber, Clock grumbles as the ringing of his alarm clock strikes his ears and rips through the air. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, tied down by the warmth of the covers and Winner embracing him from the side.

Shadows paint the clutter of their room, pierced only by a sliver of light cast from the unveiled gap of the curtains. Somewhere far off, the distant thud of construction echoes, accompanied by buttons clicking and fingers snapping. Possibly some losers’ podium of shame, soon to loom over a feisty audience during Cake at Stake.

Whatever it is, Two’s never uttered a word about it.

From countless hectic mornings over the years of staggering in and out of the shower, haphazardly brushing his teeth, throwing on a hoodie in spite of the sweltering Goikan summer to avoid contending with _those things_ because he had no time to wrangle a binder, then bolting out The Losers’ cabin so fast he’d sprain his ankle for the day...

Neither the shrill cry of beeping machinery nor the peal of classical music does its job of plunging him out of sleep, and into the bustling morning. 

The alarm clock keeps boisterously blaring away, serving as a tireless nuisance of a reminder. He’ll have to leave the grip of the blankets, swig a good bit of bitter coffee, lug himself through another tedious day, and face Two after the competitors’ rather unruly confrontation, to say the least… yet another indistinct day of following a rigid schedule. Or perhaps, he’ll just ignore the alarm and slump into more sweet, soothing sleep until the afternoon.

No such luck.

Yanking himself into consciousness, he reaches for the offending clock to his right, rattling atop his dresser. He flips it face down with one hand, fumbling for the little knob on the back before flicking it in annoyance. At once the ringing comes to a halt, leaving the room in icy, stagnant silence.

Winner still snoozes through it all, snoring soundly as their hold on their boyfriend remains ever tight. A shut-eyed expression of dreamlike bliss creases their face, sealed away from the rude sounds of the world. Their ruffled bangs drape their brow, drenched in a soft shine of light that creeps in between the curtains.

They’re not one for the mornings either, opting instead to bundle themselves in blankets and sleep in. He’ll have to shrug them awake, as usual.

Reluctantly, Clock lifts their arms off his chest, gently shaking them by the shoulder to rouse them. Blinking out of dormancy, they yawn drowsily before shifting their hands upon their eyes, shielding their sight from the morning sun.

“Rise and shine, fluffball.”

Their mouth shuts in a pout and they stubbornly grab his wrist, rubbing circles on it with their thumb. Refusing to get up, they slink back into bed, shoulders buried under the sheets.

“Not until you smooch me awake, I won’t.”

“Ew, you wouldn’t want that. I have morning breath.”

Regardless, Winner sits upright, pulling Clock in for a mischievous peck on the lips and eliciting a squeak from him. They tousle his dishevelled hair some more while stroking his face, taking in their first serene sights of the day.

Leaving him dazed for a few seconds, they respond, “I don’t care.” They move back to grin at him, contentedly watching him tense up and melt into a flustered, flabbergasted mess under their touch.

Head swimming, he sheepishly sits up and nudges them, trying to bring them closer to his side. “Hey, get back here!”

They laugh, “No, you get back here.”

Chuckling giddily, he shuffles closer, propping his elbow on their pillow and turning sideways. Clumsily littering them with small, scattered kisses, he barrages their face sloppily as his fingertips brush down their neck. They giggle at each fleeting touch, each sporadic flutter of their heart in response, each tender imprint left in his wake.

Pulling away as they both burst into rumbling laughter, Clock adds, “I’d say that’s enough, but I’d be lying.” Winner’s arm lays linked with his, two hands slotted into one another like curious puzzle pieces - contrarily distinct, yet harmoniously familiar.

By now, their welcome interruption has made its way into his otherwise mechanical regime.

Winner continues nuzzling him back, impishly sneaking in several more pecks in return. They bump noses with him, humming a low noise of contemplation and kneading his back in slow strokes. In turn, he runs his hands through their fluffy hair, scratching their scalp and brushing back each tuft with meticulous care, a doting smile breaking his still-faced demeanor as he takes all the time he can to unknot each lock. 

When he’s done he taps the back of their hand, stepping into a pair of slippers and saying, “Alright, alright. As much as I’d love to sleep in until eleven, we’ve got a long day ahead of us. Can’t sprint right into it without preparing.”

Giving his arm a squeeze, Winner mutters, “Sorry, repeat that again?”

Clock repeats himself firmly, “As much as I’d love to sleep in until eleven-”

Poking him upside the chin, they tease, “Come on, slack off a little! If we’ve got such a dull day to get through, might as well spend some of it well.”

He nods and affirms, “Well, I guess this counts as preparation too.”

Clock takes a glance at the door with its sharp edges and chipped surface, sealing them off from the clamor of the day, then to Winner’s beckoning glance, inviting him to idle for an indefinite time. The snug hold of the blankets tugs him back into respite, tempting him to linger a few moments further, to stall for more time with his partner alone… 

Feigning defeat with a sigh, he climbs under the duvet and returns into their clutches, planting a kiss on their forehead as his hand caresses their cheek.

He promises, voice hushed, “Just five more minutes, okay?”

They whisper, head cradled in the crook of his neck, “Right, five more minutes.”

Listening to the unwavering, rhythmic strum of their hearts, one beat after the other, they both sink into an affectionate cuddle. Until the alarm screams sharply again, they fall asleep to the rise and fall of their breathing, arms wrung around each other and clinging together for a few more inert moments of the early morning.


End file.
